


Negative Space

by Dreadful Weather Today (TearoomSaloon)



Series: Bedroom Hymns [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathrooms, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shaving Kink, hanni huntin' for the pussy, painting metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 06:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1734251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/Dreadful%20Weather%20Today
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was an artist with a brush, but his canvas was her body, and for him she sang. He stripped her of clothes, then he stripped her of paints, leaving her an exhausted mess under his tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negative Space

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted to write porn, so have porn.

"You're not honestly going to give me a straight razor, are you?"

Alana was lying half-nude in the empty tub, her feet resting on the brass knobs. She had been expecting a clawed-foot bath, but this huge ultra-modern, sleek, jet-studded heaven was a good enough replacement. If she'd ever get the opportunity to turn it on.

"It's efficient."

He had his bare back to her, rummaging through a cabinet for something less...terrifying. If she had known she were on the menu tonight, she would have just taken care of this herself.

"Will this suffice?" He held out a small three-bladed cartridge razor. "It has a new head."

"Yeah, that's decent." She opened a palm. "I'll come get you."

He pressed a kiss into her hand and closed it gently. "I'd prefer to do the honors, if I may. Allows more control."

She bit her lip, considering. He complained last time she did it herself, maybe it was worth not hearing him bitch in his dignified, polite manner for an hour. "Fine. Can I turn the water on now?"

"Just a few inches."

 _Yes_. She quickly stripped off her black panties and tossed them over the edge, sitting up to adjust the faucet. They turned like pinwheels, flooding the porcelain tub with hot, inviting water. A small shiver passed through her body and she lay back, letting the water rise past her wrists before shutting it off.

"Legs up."

"What's wrong with my legs? I  _just_  shaved them two days ago."

"Exactly."

She frowned and rearranged herself, twisting her calves over the edge. "I can't believe  _you_  have a thing about body hair, especially with that regal tuft on your chest."

"I like to work with smooth clay," he said quietly before kissing each of her ankles. "A clean canvas for my work."

"I'm just a painting to you?"

He grinned. "Hardly."

The cream was cool on her wet skin. It smelled evergreen and fresh, like his cheeks after he showered. He spread it on slowly from her ankles to her knees. It was thick, like the whipped cream she'd rather be licking off his—

She giggled. He'd  _never_  go for that.

"Amused?"

"Not by this, no. But by you, yes."

"I'm not  _amusing_ , Alana," he huffed, leaning in to kiss her. "I'm  _sensationally_  romantic."

Biting her cheek, she laughed harder. "You're sitting naked on the edge of a tub shaving my legs. This is  _hardly_  romantic."

"Careful, or I'll be having you for dessert."

The razor rolled over her shin like a waterfall, washing away a long strip of bluish foam. She wasn't used to shaving outside of a shower, and this experience was interesting to say the least. He kissed her after each line, his lips velvety against her legs. He rinsed them under the faucet for her, the warm water spilling down her thighs and catching on her stomach, rolling off the sides of her hips.

"Lie the other way."

"You're not seriously going to join me, are you?"

" _Alana_."

She sighed and sat up, situating herself so her back was to the narrower wall of the tub. He kneeled before her, spreading her legs on either side of him. With a soft kiss to each knee, he began to lather the area. His touch was cold and frosted, like spearmint and winter pines. The sensation was new, different, and she'd be lying if she claimed not to enjoy it. He was careful, of course, painting like she were a canvas, removing colors to accentuate negative space. She couldn't see what was happening, but she could  _feel_  it, feel the light scrape of his brush, feel the tenderness in his fingers. He was turning her into art.

When he finished, he rinsed her with the cup on the lip of the bath, clearing the stray marks, erasing the imperfections to make her beauty whole.

He gestured for her to lie on her back, every intent to finish the course. Starting with her lips, he trailed kisses down until he reached her new silk-bare skin. He started a fire in her belly with his tongue rolling up her opening gracefully, stopping to swirl around her clit before moving down again faster, sharper. He kissed and sucked at her fresh red skin, applying pressure and removing pressure. A rhythm was built like a symphony, and he, the conductor, was relishing in his orchestra's hums and moans of pleasure. Her cries of bliss encouraged his work, moving him like the ocean, taking and giving, nibbling and flicking and tasting her. She was a wine, beautiful and succulent and full of flavor as he traced between her folds. With his lips around her clit, he brought the movement to a close with a final hard, painfully pleasurable kiss.

His hair between her fingers, she bucked her hips into him and cried out, breath falling heavy from her hot lungs, settling in the tepid water around her arched back. Air came sharp and fast, raggedly pulling at her throat. "I feel like I need a shower," she said softly, slinking back into the soiled water. "But you've turned my legs into jelly."

"We could take a long hot bath and I'll play you like a harp for an hour or two. How does that sound?"

She laughed breathlessly. If that were his way of offering to finger her, then she was all for it.


End file.
